(this is a post continued from yesterday - if you've not read my last post, I suggest you do that now. We'll wait. Um, this is long - but I'm leaving it alone. If you don't have time, maybe finish reading it tomorrow?)
Tank was flying BACK to Minnesota. Another friend, another lake house. Living the dream.
I'd told him that we'd leave at 6:40 am for his 8:50 am flight. I was worried about rush hour. As I don't generally need to drive places during that hectic hour, I was uncertain how it might impact our airport drop off. Better to be safe, than sorry.
My eyeballs decided to protest my use of contact lenses that week. Why? It's an unsolved mystery, but nonetheless, I was wearing workout clothes and glasses. I checked the GPS to Midway. I think it said 30 min. In no traffic, I can do it in 25, so not bad.
Reg had agreed to drop Kay at the pool and Mini at the train. I told Kay, UNLESS THERE'S SOME SORT OF HORRIBLE TRAFFIC ON MY WAY HOME, I SHOULD BE THERE AFTER SWIM PRACTICE. Ray was caddying with Reg. And maybe Curly? Who can remember.
6:42 am: Tank and I hopped in the minivan.
6:52 am: We were on the Stevenson Expressway, heading to Midway Airport. We were chatting. I happened to look down. When I wear my stupid glasses, I can't see close, so I lifted my glasses to verify. OH SHIT.
Me: TANK, WE'RE ON EMPTY!
I made him hit whatever button in the Odyssey reveals how many miles we would have until we ran out of gas. He hit the button.
FOUR. MILES.
Me: TANK, WE'RE NOT GONNA MAKE IT. WE'RE RUNNING OUT OF GAS IN FOUR MILES. (insert deep hissing sounds coming from your's truly. I was high pitch squealing, nearing panic mode). There were no upcoming exits with gas stations.
I hollered for him to ask GPS for the closest gas station. I thought we should go north on LaGrange Road. He told me to go south on LaGrange. (this is like industrial type places, maybe the expressway goes over a railroad yard or something non-pedestrian like). Mistake. There was nothing.
Tank: It says 12 minutes.
Me (whimpering): WE'RE NOT MAKING IT 12 MINUTES.
At Archer, he told me to exit. This was now officially the wrong direction. Then he told me GPS wanted me to do a u-turn, but there was nothing worth turning around to. We'd already been down there. I started to cry.
Tank: THERE'S GOTTA BE SOMETHING DOWN HERE. JUST STAY THIS WAY. THERE'S LIKE HOUSES AND SHIT- GOTTA BE A GAS STATION.
Then he spotted it: LOOK! THERE'S ONE RIGHT THERE. OK? OK! WE'RE FINE.
7:02 am (That's when I took the dashboard photo): We rolled into the gas station. He got out to pump and I took a photo of the
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4!!!! |
We followed the GPS directions to Midway, because I'd never gone to Midway from Archer Avenue and like 79th Street? A moment later, it dawned on me.
Me: OH. SHIT. IT WAS ME. I DROVE THE MINIVAN YESTERDAY! WHAT? HOW DID I NOT NOTICE?
Upon review of the day before, I remembered rushing to the hair appt. and to Dad's appointment. Then Tank admitted that he drove it to get Mini from the train and he noticed the low fuel, but knew Mini wanted to get home after a long day in the city. I don't drive the same car everyday. I'd just filled up a car, but that was Tex. Curly drove the minivan home from the swim meet. She didn't notice the low fuel light, but she drove it less than 2 miles. I didn't notice the low fuel light the day before - could've been because I was in such a hurry. Oops.
With a full tank - order was restored and GPS says we're gonna get to Midway at 7:35ish I say to Tank: Hey, Dad is flying to North Carolina for the 4th, that's where you're going too, right? I'm wondering if you're on the same flight. He's flying Frontier.
Tank: That's nuts. I'm flying Frontier too.
Then we chatted a minute about when he was returning from Minnesota, which kid this was he was visiting and who else was going (I can't keep it all straight). As we approached Midway, Tank asks me: Where's the United terminal?
Me (I'm blanking on the fact that he just told me he was flying Frontier the following weekend): What? I don't know. Doesn't matter. Don't talk about next weekend. Let's just get through this one.
Tank: This is for this weekend. Where's United?
Me: United flies out of O'Hare.
Tank: We're at O'Hare.
Me: No, we're at Midway.
Tank: (here's where Tank says words that I never imagined could cause me so much stress) MOM - MY FLIGHT'S OUT OF MIDWAY!!!!!
Me: WHAT? WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THAT?! YOU JUST WATCHED ME DRIVE TO MIDWAY . . . TANK, YOU'RE GONNA MISS YOUR FLIGHT.
*let's pause here to recognize that kids growing up with GPS at the ready are sometimes at a disadvantage. I knew which direction Midway was when I was like 11 years old. I knew O'Hare was north from our house on 294. And Midway was on the south side - not far from my Irish dancing classes.
7:35 am: Anyway - We were in front of Midway - instead of exiting to the ramp to drop off passengers, I stayed the course. The woman right next to me watched me LOSE my mind. She couldn't hear the shouting and hollering and pure panic on the inside of our car, but apparently our arms-flailing, mouths-flapping, head-bopping was mucho entertaining, because her eyes were popping out of her head and she was giggling.
I floored it. Sped up to the light. Saw the green arrow, inviting me to turn left onto 63rd. Not gonna lie, I felt a little like Matt Damon in the Borne Identity when he hops in the driver's seat and asks the girl who owns the car, "Do you take care of this car? How old are the tires?" or something.
I fix my eyes on the road and tell Tank: Put O'Hare in the GPS. I think it'll have me turn . . .
The GPS told me in a calm voice that only frustrated me further: 'Take a left on 63rd.' Where was GPS's anxiety?
I sped along, weaving through traffic, fortunately making most of the lights. When I was on Archer, I needed to get in the left lane so I could get back on I-55 (the Stevenson). The cars waiting to do this same thing formed a somewhat-stationary, never-ending line. A traffic light separating us from getting anywhere near the ramp to I-55 kept turning red before we could progress. Damn. Finally, I pulled an A-hole move and I got in the right lane, made it through the impossible traffic light and now was positioned next to all of the cars that were waiting patiently. No one wants to let in the A-hole person who is trying to sneak in when it isn't their turn.
7:45 am: I spotted one car with the windows down. It was 85 degrees out..
I pull alongside Mr. I-Don't-Do-AC, roll my window down, and I 'splain as best I can in a not-so-calm voice, distraught showing on my face: I THOUGHT HE FLEW OUT OF MIDWAY AND HE FLIES OUT OF O'HARE, HE MIGHT MISS HIS FLIGHT . . .
No-AC guy is about 28. He saves the day with a wave to get in front of him.
I speed thru traffic on I-55, looking for space to pass other cars and weaving. When I saw an open stretch, I floored it.
Me: CALL DAD, TELL HIM TO TEXT ALLISON (kid is on swim team with Kay) HAVE HER GET WORD TO KAY THAT I'M GONNA BE LATE. SHE CAN WATCH THE NEXT PRACTICE.
I also had him send messages to Kay's coaches thru the team snap app, so someone would let her know I'd be late.
At the oasis exit thing, I faked like I was getting off to get gas, but we all know I ALREADY GOT GAS, and the funny thing is - I THOUGHT THAT WAS STRESSFUL. Bah ha ha. I drove up to the oasis and then blew right on thru to the other side to join the expressway, thereby making better progress because it is RUSH HOUR and most of 294 is a parking lot.
7:55 am: GPS has 8:16 am as our arrival to O'Hare. Flight is at 8:50.
Tank keeps apologizing and we reviewed what happened, him thinking he said O'Hare and me quite confident he never said O'Hare, and me admitting that when he flew Southwest the weekend before to the same destination, I probably just went on autopilot and was in Midway mode. By now, I've moved beyond How We Got Here, and I'm more focused on How We Are Getting There - with enough time to get thru security. This is O'Hare - security can be a beast.
Then the Traveling Wilbury's End of the Line song comes on the radio. Tank turns it up, blaring the lyrics: 'Well, it's all right . . . "
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That's my kid in the baseball hat, making a run for security. |
I gave him the too-soon-to-laugh-at-this-shit look.
I pull up to O'Hare's United terminal and drop him off at 8:09 am. He kisses me, thanks me and I yell: GO!!!!!
A couple of people in security allowed him to hop in front when he shared his WAS AT MIDWAY, FLIGHT'S HERE, OOPS scenario. He called me about fifteen minutes later: I'M AT MY GATE!
Well, that was a two hour trip in the car. I could've like GONE SOMEPLACE. No one gave Kay the message and she'd started walking home, but was hanging out in the shade under a tree waiting for me.
In case you are wondering, Tank was not on Coach's flight the next weekend. That would've been too easy. I drove him to O'Hare Thursday morning, July 3rd. And I picked him up in the middle of rush hour on Monday evening, July 7th - also from O'Hare. I hope he enjoys city life, because I think he needs to stay in town for awhile.
I might need to join GW's (our big-ass van) status as a former airport shuttle.
*****
Have you ever messed up a flight or an airport? Run out of gas?